Land Of The Undead
by skaterhottie639
Summary: We have set off to take back a world we know is rightfully ours. We can only hope we're strong enough to handle every obstacle and hurdle that is thrown our way. Not to mention the dangers that lurk with sharp teeth and an all consuming hunger. R&R? :D
1. Fighting Back

My heart raced and my feet pounded as I stumbled through a dimly-lit hallway. My only light source came from the cracks and holes in the sheet rock. It would have been an awesome photo but unfortunately I don't think my pursuers cared much for art and probably wouldn't have been generous enough as to take a few minutes out of trying to eat me to let me take a few pictures. No, they definitely wouldn't and I would need all the time I could get to first find the others and then get the H-E-double hockey sticks out of there.

Unfortunately, I had lost the others back in the chaos. I could only hope that they had made it out unbitten. One bite, just one and you were better off with a bullet to the head. I glanced back just in time. A zombie was quickly advancing towards me. I blame George A. Romero for instilling in my head the notion that zombies were crippled in many ways, including speed. Not only are the undead freaks speedy little buggers, but they are inhumanly strong to the point where if you don't have the proper artillery, say goodbye to your internal organs. I lifted the AK-47 and focused on the rapidly progressing zombie. Pulling the trigger, I braced myself for the recoil, but all I got was a blank. I pulled the trigger again, but the thing was still gaining. I looked at the gnarled, sprinting (albeit a little drunkenly) corpse for the first time with fearful eyes.

I grabbed the machete out of my belt and got in my last-stand-fighting-position. Before I had a chance to lash out, a shot reverberated through the air and the thing fell a foot in front of me. I looked down at the finally lifeless corpse, its face frozen in shock. It's funny to think these things actually have emotions when like I said, they were inhuman. I turned around in search of my savior and am ashamed to say a sob of relief escaped before I could filter it out. "Blake!" I cried, dropping the machete and throwing myself on him. He dropped his gun in my haste, and wrapped his arms protectively around me.

"Where's everyone else?" I asked hopefully. He took a breath to answer but before he could, a loud _Boom _resonated through the walls. I laughed, giddy with relief. "No need to answer that." I said. Wherever there's an explosion, there's my little brother, Daniel. He's an absolute genius with a slight fetish for blowing things up, which necessarily isn't always a good thing. Today, however I couldn't have been happier that my 12 year old brother was a freaky arsonist mastermind.

"Let's go!" I exclaimed, cheerfully.

We picked up our weapons and headed towards the explosion. Thankfully, we didn't come into contact with many zombies and the ones that we did run into were dead before they even saw us coming. Man, we were on a roll. Finally we ran out of the makeshift exit and climbed into the big SUV we had jacked from a car dealership. Hey, it's not stealing if there's not even law enforcement to make sure we're abiding. Plus, it was the only vehicle that could accommodate 6 kids and then some. After a quick head-count that confirmed no one had developed a craving for brains, I put the car into drive and off we went.

I glanced back and was satisfied with what I saw. Sure the building was a little bit more damaged than when we first got there but no more zombies inhabited it. And that's what we had set out to do in the first place. We were the world's last hope until the scientists came up with a cure, if they were even still alive. So while others hide out, rationing food like the cowards they are, we're taking a stand. We're the exterminators to this zombie infestation, and pretty soon we won't have to live in fear anymore. This is a war, whether the other's know it or not, and I'll be damned if I let them win.


	2. The Before

I remember a time before the Outbreak. Back in this time no one really had anything to fear. Fear back then was a tidal wave compared to the tsunami of dread that will never retreat. This time wasn't so long ago; in fact it was about a year. If time wasn't imposed by the moon and the sun, but by how long it felt, it could've been an eternity.

The fad of the moment just happened to be zombies. Zombie movies and books were coming out faster than the gays. And I'm not being a homophobe either. I had plenty of gay friends, but once you joined the legions of the undead you really weren't considered anyone's friend anymore… or gay for that matter.

Anyway, back to story time. This die hard zombie fan takes his obsession to the extreme and decides that hey, I want to live in a world where cannibalized corpses try to shred me to pieces. Thus, the end of the world commenced. What the whack job did was create a virus that cuts off all the functions of the brain except for one: hunger. The hunger amplifies everything, including locomotion, strength, and adrenaline. So they never tire, never falter, and are always at their peak; pretty much impossible to compete with but we make do. I guess it kind of helps that there is nothing even remotely cunning about them. I'm telling you, they're about as dim minded as a burned out light bulb.

Sadly, no one paid much attention to the cons of a zombie apocalypse; they chose to be ignorant of its dangers. Not that I can blame them. Raiding stores of everything you could possibly dream of seemed pretty glamorous and who would want to taint that with thoughts of dying? When the world went to shit, everyone did the initiative: loot the malls and break any rule they could. It was a druggie's fantasy world. But when the allure wore off and people finally woke up and smelled the rotting flesh, it was by no means a dream come true. If anything it was nightmare. The world was enveloped by chaos and there was nothing that could've been done to stop it. Law enforcements were a joke and everybody went about their business freely, going as far as murder. Not to mention the decaying cadavers that we frequently had to dodge. This was no heaven on earth; it was a hell of colossal proportions.

This new hell, that even Satan would've been wary of, was tough to survive and I doubt we would've made it if we weren't well prepared. It was a small consolation that we incidentally readied ourselves for this tragedy and sometimes I hated myself for it. If I hadn't have gotten involved in the zombie trend maybe that would've lessened the fuel to the lunatic's bizarre delusions and this catastrophe could've been avoided.

It was all supposed to be a joke. None of us thought it would actually come in handy. Every Saturday, we'd dedicate ourselves to a pretend zombie survival course; one that we'd created ourselves. It was pretty basic. All we really did was spend half the day paintballing and then the other half we'd spend in a mock sword/knife combat. I guess you could call it larping but it was too much of a nerdy term for me to be keen on using. That's how my gang and I came to be. We were all just buds of common friends with a mutual fondness for reanimated carcasses. Our crew was made up of Blake (my one-of-a-kind best friend), Daniel (my pyro of a little brother), Stacy (Blake's quirky twin sister), Cisco (Daniel's equally mischievous childhood friend), Lulu (whom, despite the name was a tomboy at heart), and finally me: Rory. Daniel, Cisco, and Lulu were all 12 while Blake, Stacy, and I were 17. I have to say though, if the nut would've settled for role playing like some nerds (i.e. us), this sort of predicament could have been avoided.

Unfortunately for us, nothing useful will come ever out of wishful thinking, so it's best not to dwell on what was lost and instead focus on what there is to gain. The virus is running its course and we can only hope that we are able to endure its hardships and outlive the things that ruthlessly hunt for us.


	3. Introducing, The Skeeves

I yawned, trying to be discreet. The sun was setting and we'd need a place to crash soon; preferably one not zombie-ridden. The outline of buildings heralded our safe haven for tonight.

"You tired?" Blake asked; so much for discreet.

"Yeah," I smiled, sheepishly.

"Why don't I take the wheel for a while?" he suggested.

"Nah, I can handle it. We're not gonna be driving for much longer," I said pointing to the augmenting city.

Blake nodded and settled back into the passenger's seat.

I gave him a sidelong glance. He had a slight build and ranked at about 6'2". His blue eyes stood out in contrast with his darkly tanned skin. And that beautifully crafted face was framed by black, curly locks in desperate need of a trimming. But who has time for a haircut when you're out kicking zombie ass? His voice, however, was so out of place with the rest of his characteristics. If you closed your eyes while he spoke, you could almost picture the geek that had accidentally gotten their voice mixed up with a McHottie. I bet you, somewhere out there a kid with the dorkiest pair of glasses and head gear was talking all deep and manly and so unlike how he looked- that is if he hasn't already become a zombie happy meal. I loved Blake's voice though; it was that one thing that marked him as him.

When I say love, I mean the sisterly kind. Not the I-wanna-shove-my-tongue-down-your-throat type; although, I don't even think that can be considered as love. I think it more closely qualifies as lust. It's not like I need a boyfriend anyway. I'm covered in so much zombie guts; half the time people can't even tell I'm a girl. Besides, in a world that has been overrun by zombies, does it really look like I have the time for a relationship? I mean knowing me, we could be making out and a stampede of zombies would pick that moment to attack us and tear us apart like the savage cannibals they are; yeah, not such a pretty picture.

Blake smiled knowingly. Turning to me he said, "You know, you really should be more focused on the road. I wouldn't want to be the reason we got in an accident."

I looked away hastily and scowled at the highway. Sure, Blake was every girl's dream guy, but that doesn't mean he was mine too. He's a hottie, I'll admit that much but he's too much like a brother for me to actually be interested. Not to mention an ego that required consistent petting. I mean it's not like I notice the way his muscles ripple under his fitted band tees. Or the black specks that swim around in his ocean eyes. Nope, I definitely haven't noticed_ those_ kinds of things.

That whole train of thought lasted until we got into the city limits. The ruins of a town that used to thrive before the infection spread. There was a sign on the outskirts, but it was knocked down and too banged up to be legible. I had an inkling it was supposed to be a surrogate welcoming committee. With any luck, we won't be running into the real "welcoming committee". Don't get me wrong, I love beheading zombie's and all but, was it too much to ask for an actual peaceful night's sleep, without any interruptions and blood on my PJs?

Abandoned storefronts zoomed by as our car cruised along the street. You had to be picky when it came to a nightly refuge; nothing too dingy, but then nothing too opulent either; a nice balance of both. Prosperity would draw unwanted attention from people both with a heartbeat and without. I don't think I need to explain why, when given the choice, we would prefer not to live in a dump. Plus the location has to be convenient enough. Say if you were ambushed, you would need a quick getaway and to do that you had to be close enough to the suburbs. You wouldn't want to loiter too long. The more time you linger the more aware they are of your presence. They sniff you out like a dog and then munch on you like a cat. Thankfully, we've had a lot of practice in all of this so we know how much time is allotted to us before we have to make a swift departure. We've learned the hard way that it's best not to overstay our welcome.

Finally we came upon a house check-list worthy. It was a two-story painted a light tan. It looked to belong to someone higher up in the middle class. It even had a garage which was a definite bonus. No one's going to commandeer my baby, that's for sure. I pulled up in the driveway and made Blake get out to manually open the garage door. I looked away from his bulging muscles and instead focused on repositioning the car so we wouldn't collide with any walls. Hey, I was just following his wishes of not wanting to be the sole cause of distracting my driving. Once inside, I hopped out of the car and grabbed my messenger bag. The others followed suit and we all cautiously progressed towards the house.

We deemed the perimeter safe when no groaning and moaning could be heard. It was usually a dead giveaway of the undead… no pun intended. I tried turning the door knob to the back door but it wouldn't give.

"Move back." I ordered the kids behind me. They obliged without questions.

I took off my black sweatshirt and wound it around my left hand. What I was about to do I haven't necessarily enacted before but I've seen it done plenty times in movies. I drew my hand back and punched the glass. Instead of it going through which was what I was counting on, it just bounced off the window.

My eyes widened and a stream of curses surged out of my mouth that had Stacy covering the kids' ears. I crouched down and held my throbbing hand. I looked up and exclaimed in outrage, "Not even a crack! Really?"

"That's gotta hurt," a teasing voice said. Apparently my hurting myself was a total riot because everyone's reactions ranged from a suppressed smile to full-on hysterical laughter.

I huffed with frustration. "No, Blake. It felt amazing and I'm just itching to do it again. Only this time I kinda want to try it on something else," I said giving him a look that implied he was "something else".

Instead of the initial response I was expecting that would lead to an all-out bicker-war, he grinned broadly; turning on the full wattage and said," Why don't you guys check out the front door? I'll take care of our injured kitten."'

"Or we could just pick the lock. We've done it plenty times before." Cisco suggested.

"I'm sure the front door lock will be easier to pick," Blake interjected, giving Cisco a look that made him step down; a look that wasn't visible from my vantage point.

As they walked towards the front of the house Stacey snickered. She whirled around and warned me with a wink, "Play nice, kitty."

I sighed. I hadn't meant to snap at Blake but it was bad enough that I had embarrassed myself so significantly. I was the tough girl in the group and it was kind of demeaning for my stature to be reduced even the slightest.

Blake tapped on the window above me. The glass made a dull clinking sound. "Thick glass, honest mistake," he said in empathy.

I dropped my head into my uninjured hand and groaned. Humiliation colored my cheeks; a very unattractive shade of burgundy that blazed across my face. Due to my embarrassment I was at loss for words. So, the only response I could afford given my state of mortification was to glower up at him.

Blake sat next to me and grabbed my cloth-clad hand. My sweatshirt was unwounded and finally we could look at the damage that punching the window had inflicted; not that there was much. My knuckles were a little split and swollen but other than that it didn't need any immediate medical assistance, which is great considering hospitals were crawling with the likes of the undead and could probably do more harm than help.

Blake went rummaging through my bag giving me the chance to study him. His sable curls caught the light of the setting sun and my breath stopped cold in my throat. It cast a glistening halo on his dark mane and for a brief moment he resembled a fallen angel with his dark complexion and angelic quality; absolutely breath-taking. Then he looked at me and the spell was broken.

Out of the bag he produced a first-aid kit. He started rubbing Neosporin on the cuts in gentle circular motions as if bruised knuckles were the worst I've ever had to deal with. My stomach started feeling funny in a not entirely unpleasant way but if it got too intense it might cause an up-chuck of something I wasn't totally sure were the contents of my stomach. I did as best as I could to ignore the feeling as I did his searing eyes. I could feel him willing me to meet his gaze but I refused the pull of his oceanic-stare.

His sigh broke the silence that had my shoulders rigid with tension. This situation was beyond awkward and I just wanted to get past it. I had the strangest of all urges to lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder. Don't know what was going on in my head considering it was my hand that was injured but if I did act out on my impulse he'd probably have me committed to a loony-bin even if they were swarming with zombies.

We wrapped it up with an Ace bandage so nothing could get into the "wound" and infect it; even the smallest of cuts could prove to be deadly if not properly treated. He stuffed the first-aid kit back into the bag and got up, holding his hand out for me. I smiled up at him gratefully and took it.

We walked around the side of the house to the front. The door was left slightly ajar and only darkness greeted us. I walked through the threshold with cautious steps. Blake, feeling the change in the air, stayed close to me. So close in fact that the heat he was radiating made me break out in a sweat.

The doorway led into a mudroom somewhat obscured by darkness. I didn't bother taking off my shoes. I wanted to be able to leave at a moment's notice and I see the other's had the same general idea since none of the shoes littering the floor were theirs. A peculiarly odd observation was that none of the shoes seemed to have collected any dust like ones that have been untouched for a while should have. Foreboding was creeping into every pore of my skin. You don't survive this long without being able to sense danger a mile away and right now the hairs on my arms were sticking up pin-straight. We stepped into the next room. Light filtered in from the windows and I was able to recognize the fridge and dishwasher that would distinguish this as a kitchen. I was also able to discern a sight that chilled my blood.

Blake, taking notice of the threat, wrapped his hand around my arm and tried to pull me behind him. I stood my ground and shook him off. Finally he settled for standing protectively next to me.

Standing in the doorway was a man of about 20 with short cropped hair that appeared to blond and faint stubble on his chin. He could've been handsome if he didn't reek with malevolence. In his hand he held a deadly weapon that at this dreadful moment was trained on me.

"You better watch where you point that thing," Blake warned in a virulent voice. His eyes had gone cold with disdain. I don't understand how he could act so brazen at this moment when at any second our existences could be blown into oblivion with just one pull of the trigger. _My_ excuse was thinking about the kids staring down the same lethal gun. That definitely got my blood boiling.

"What did you do with them?" I asked, equally as loathing. The guy looked shocked for a second; probably because we weren't cowering in fear like he expected. Then he smirked maliciously.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you, my pretty thing, are talking about," he drawled, lying as plain as day.

My eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't bullshit me. I suggest you let them go or you'll wish you were dealing with zombies."

He smiled in a way that could only be described as shark-like. He lowered his gun and strolled leisurely towards me. "Well aren't you a fierce little thing," he said, stroking my face. I had no qualms about going to extreme lengths to survive and so I took my only available option.

I kneed him in the gonads.

He dropped his gun and doubled over in pain, so I uppercut him (with my unharmed hand of course), knocking him out cold; bonus to ambidexterity.

"Watch him; if he comes to, knock him out again. I got to find the others," I instructed Blake. He nodded without looking away from Mr. Skeevy. I grabbed his gun that was lying next to his immobile body I set about looking for my friends. If he harmed them in anyway, that son of a bitch was going to be zombie food.


	4. Sick Twisted Disturbed Psychotic Fuck

"Daniel… Stacy… Lulu… Cisco!" I called, getting more panicked as just about every room kept turning up empty. As I was about to head up stairs I came upon a door suspiciously locked on the outside. I banged on the wood so hard it started splintering.

"Are you guys in there?" I hollered. Muffled shouting reached my ears. I immediately started undoing the thousands of locks. As I busied myself with that I couldn't help but wonder what would he need to lock in, instead of out?

Once I had the final lock undone, I threw open the door and before I was given time to react, I was tackled by a little boy with a vise-like grip. I looked down to see who was clamping himself onto my waist and I heaved a sigh of relief. Grateful blue eyes stared up into mine; peeking through slits of blonde hair not unlike my own.

I held Daniel's face in my hands and checked all the visible areas to see if he had suffered any physical damage. I say physical because God knows everyone's mentality is way past repair in this world. Confronting a maniac with a gun probably doesn't help matters, either.

Nothing conspicuous stuck out to me and so I gave him some breathing room. I regarded the others too, silently scanning their skin for even the slightest of cuts or new forming bruises.

"Are you guys okay?" I asked them after surmising that no palpable harm had come to them.

"Of course we are, and we could've totally taken him if he didn't cheat and pull a gun on us," Lulu boasted seemingly unfazed by her brush with death, not that it surprises me. It takes a lot for something to rattle her and this situation wasn't any different.

I glanced around the room they had been imprisoned in. It was simple enough, with a bed, a bedside table- on which rested a lamp- and a dresser. Not much of a torture chamber; which was pretty relieving. At least he's not _that _sick, not that I can know how far his mental illness constraints with just one less than redeeming thought.

"Speaking of which" Stacy chimed in, "where is he?"

"Unconscious," I said absent-mindedly. Stacy looked at me with an approving stare.

"So how'd you do it?" Daniel asked with a childlike eagerness. I shook my head, as much as we loved listening to each other's stories about the daily ass kicking we dish out, right now wasn't necessarily an appropriate time to share them.

"Not that I don't love to reminisce in handing people's asses to them, because trust me it's a favorite past time of mine; but we've got more important things to attend to at the moment." I said as I wriggled myself free from Daniel's clutch since he had once again attached himself to me.

"Like what?" Cisco inquired.

"Like the fact that those locks weren't inside the room but out. That's not usually something one tends to stumble upon very often. I want to find out what The Skeeves has been up to." I figured that was a good enough explanation and so I turned towards the door.

"Very fitting nickname," Stacy observed with a snicker as we left the room on a search for answers.

The only remaining door that I had yet to venture to was a few feet down the hall, just before the stairs that lead to the upper level began and so I started towards it, but as my luck would have it the knob refused to turn. It looked to only be accessible by key; which I had a sinking feeling was hidden somewhere on The Skeeves' person.

I could always ask for Daniel to blow it up. Give the kid toothpaste and a clock and he could blow up a whole entire city block, but I didn't have the patience for the time he'd need in order to successfully do it. Don't get me wrong, it doesn't take Daniel much time to assemble a bomb but the time he did need I wasn't willing to lend to him.

Kicking open the door might be my best alternative; the hinges looked cheap enough and unlike my pathetic attempt with the window, I was actually very skilled in the art of busting down doors. There were many things we'd learned in Zombie Survival 101 and that was one of them.

"Give me some room," I instructed the others and ushered them to the side. I gave a swift, calculated kick and watched as the door effortlessly flew off its hinges and crashed into the wall behind it. There wasn't much of a stretch between the gaping space where the door once stood and the wall on which it now leaned; about 4 feet. On my left there appeared to be a flight of stairs that disappeared into darkness the farther down they went. I quickly flicked on the light switch and watched as the shadows retreated into the darker places. I trained the gun on whatever was to come barreling up the stairs; in case the thing he was locking away was of the decomposing undead variety.

I slowly descended down the stairs and felt the others follow cautiously behind me. We wandered down into what seemed to be the basement and what I saw stopped me cold in my tracks; sitting on the dampened concrete, chained and shackled to the wall was a grim-faced girl that looked to be around The Skeeve's age; early twenties. Her tattered clothes and grubby appearance caused her to appear a dejected mess but upon a closer inspection a resolute fire burned in her eyes.

She took us all in without batting an eyelash and said, as impassive as ever, "It's about damn time."


End file.
